There are two things you need to know about My Last Five Girlfriends. Firstly, it's so bad that it creates a new subgenre of its own - the Brit Vomcom. Secondly, Jane March is in it and does not take her kit off. Fact. Yet that doesn't stop her being associated with the messiest pile of spuff since her swimming pool encounter with Bruce Willis in Color Of Night.

Buried deep at the core is a fairly nifty premise, derived from Alain De Botton's novel Essays In Love. It involves a fairly nondescript young chap called Duncan taking viewers on a voyage through his doomed romances - all while he lies on the floor after trying to top himself. His love/loathe life basically becomes a gloomy theme park, where the various attractions represent a different girlfriend. The laborious journey into his turbulent affairs feels more like being stuck in a traffic jam than being on a rollercoaster, especially as the events are awash with too much explanation of everything we see and what preceded it.

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The visual execution of the movie is perhaps its worst aspect, with there being no shortage of competition for that honour. A rule often applied to moviemaking is "show, don't tell". This nugget of wisdom is frequently defied by director Julian Kemp, much to the film's detriment. Duncan's voiceover is often quick to point out some random occurrence in his love life, only for a visual representation of his words to incongruously plonked in front of our eyes. For example, he explains that eating chocolate makes him ill, so when he does just that to impress a girlfriend (cue a Harry Hill style side glance of exasperation) we're treated to an overlong inside look of his digestive system going haywire. What was the point of that? On numerous other occasions we're bombarded with similar demonstrations of what we've already been told. Not good. Nor is the attempt to deliver a biography of one lady via the use of Barbie doll models.

The characterization is lousy, with all of Duncan's girlfriends merely coming across as one-dimensional 'types' and not rounded human beings. The actresses are given little chance to impress with such banal dialogue, although Naomie Harris as Gemma and Jane March as Olive put enough nuances into their performances to make them remotely intriguing. Even a very brief Michael Sheen cameo as an American copper fails to even momentarily halt the rot. As for Duncan himself, he's as hard to care about as the bunch of obsessives and deceivers he hooks up with - although actor Brendan Patricks isn't particularly at fault.

The makers of My Last Five Girlfriends were desperately striving for whimsy but all they could muster up was flimsy. The only thoroughly commendable aspect of My Last Five Girlfriends is its mercifully short running time. The end credits were a welcome relief after some of the worst, ill-conceived moviemaking in years.